abuse of the underpaid

Alexander is a counselor for the summer at a day camp about 25 miles away. He loves it.  Everyday he comes home with stories of his campers.

But he doesn’t get paid a lot, so he decides it would be nice to make some extra spending money. He applies for two, minimum-paying jobs.

Before starting his job as a counselor, Alexander applies for a job at Pinkberry.   He has many years of experience scooping ice-cream for himself, and on occasion, for his friends; he is well-qualified.  He is called in for an 8:30 am interview in lower Manhattan.  Alexander gets up early, dresses appropriately, and is there on time.  He is in a room with about 30 others. A person comes out and reads off about 15 names (not my son’s).  “Okay, these people come with me.  The rest of you please come back in two hours for your interview.”

My son chooses not to wait for two hours.  I don’t blame him.

Next he applies for a job at a local gourmet grocer in our neighborhood.  His grandfather knows the store’s owner who says he’d be happy to help.  It takes two weeks of back and forth emails for Alexander to connect with the HR person (I’ll call Ingrid).  She has lost the application Alexander submitted in person a few weeks ago.  He resubmits his resume and Ingrid agrees to meet with him.  She invites Alexander in for a midday interview.  My son explains again, as he already has via emails, that he is only available during the week after 5:30, and on weekends, as he is a camp counselor.   Alexander and Ingrid finally agree to a 5:15 interview.   Alexander explains to Ingrid that he will get off his bus early and get someone to cover for him so he can make it to the interview by 5:15.  I don’t understand why she couldn’t just say, “Get here as soon as you can.  5:30 is fine.”  Alexander arrives for the interview on time, 5:15.  “I’m sorry,” the receptionist says, “Ingrid left at 5:00.”

Apparently, people applying for low-paying jobs are not given any respect.  They are dispensable commodities.  In a city with so much wealth, it’s wrong that people willing to work should be paid so little and treated so poorly.

My son is a college student, so for him, it’s not a big deal.  But that’s not the case for so many others. 

happy 4th

We’ve been invited to a barbecue in New Jersey.  But because Alexander travels on a bus every weekday for his job as a camp counselor, he wants to hang out in the city.  And I want to spend the day with him.  So I turn down my friend’s invitation, imagining all the things I’ll do instead with my son.

I search online for ideas.  Every suggestion I make is met with the same response: “I don’t want to do that.”  Finally Alexander and I agree to take a walk, then sit in the park and read.  We make it two blocks before turning back.  It is too hot and muggy to be outdoors. Too bad we’re not on a beach somewhere.  But then, Alexander wouldn’t enjoy that either. I begin, “Why don’t we…” and Alexander cuts me off. “We are not a we,” he says.  "We are not a couple we, but we are still a we," I respond. The conversation is absurd.

We come back to the apartment and watch an entertaining PPV movie, The Call.  We order in sushi.  And we watch an old Law and Order SVU.  It’s a simple way to celebrate a big, 237^th birthday. Just not quite the way I had imagined.

weight-watchers after one week

First, a basic lesson in WW math.

    I am allotted 26 points a day and 49 bonus points a week. 

    Bonus points can be used at one sitting or spread throughout the week. 

    Unused points don’t carryover to the next day; unused bonus points don’t carry over to the next week.

    Every food is assigned points except for fruits and vegetables.  These are free foods — zero points.

I “track” every single thing I eat.   If I follow the plan and stay within my points, I should lose weight.

I go through the first week proud of myself.  I am good at following rules.

I stay within my 26 points a day and don’t even use all my bonus points.  I weigh foods on my little scale to account exactly for their weight.  I overestimate points when I am not sure of a food’s value. I eat fruit when I’m hungry.  No more cashews for an afternoon snack.  I  even skip the tiny cheese sample they are offering at Agata.

I go today and weigh in.  I see a familiar face at weigh-in.  Robin.  She was the leader when I left, and is still here.  She was not here last week.  She gives me a big welcoming smile, and with her characteristically positive attitude says, “Wow.  Fantastic.  You’re down 1.6 pounds.”  Robin’s enthusiasm is genuine; she acts as if the weight loss is on her frame, not mine.

And then she says, “You know, you shouldn’t be paying at all.  You are still within two pounds of your lifetime goal weight of 128.”  I had no idea. 

I’m happy Robin’s back.  I’m happy not to be paying.  And I’m happy I lost 1.6 pounds.  Today is a good day.

a cleaning tip

A friend surprised me last year with a gorgeous little change purse from Fendi.  I love it but it’s light blue and easily shows dirt.

I read somewhere that Dawn Dishwashing Liquid is a great cleaner of small leather goods.  Here’s the proof.

BEFORE

AFTER

an easier way to do laundry...send it out

I like to imagine winning the lottery.  Two luxuries I would immediately get would be a driver and a washer/dryer for my apartment (and of course a big apartment that would allow for my very own laundry room).

Most people who don’t live in a city already have these luxuries.  Okay, the driver may be a car, but in New York, it would be pure indulgence to be able to call on a Henry.   “Good morning Henry,” I’d begin most days.  “I need to run over  to Fairway and it’s pouring out.  Could you pick me up in about ten minutes?”  or, “Hi Henry.  Alexander wants to come home for the long weekend.  Could you go up to Ithaca and pick him up? Thanks so much.”  I can think of endless scenarios where having a Henry would be helpful.

When I visit my parents, I actually enjoy doing my laundry.  I like the feeling of warm clean clothes as they emerge from the dryer.  But here, in NYC, I hate doing laundry.  It’s expensive and pure drudgery.  Lugging my clothes down to the basement laundry room.  Putting in $2.75 for every washing machine, and the same for every dryer, then hoping they work.  Cleaning a stranger’s lint off the dryer.  Making two round-trips to the semi-clean laundry room.  The whole thing is just a giant pain, and totally unsatisfying.

A few months ago someone told me about a local cleaners nearby that does laundry, and does it well.  I finally decide to try them.  Alexander and I lug over 35 pounds of laundry (they do pick up, but I want to go since it’s my first time).  The place is small and hot.  There are about eight Korean women busy at work.

Yesterday I get my laundry back.  They’ve done a great job, even folding our T-shirts the way I prefer.

Like this:

Not like this:

I am so impressed I decide I’m never doing my own laundry again.  Sending it out costs less than doing it myself.  I add M&I Laundry to my Contacts.

I go over today to thank them.  The atmosphere has changed.  It’s quiet.  No workers folding anything.  I wonder if they are not yet open.  But it is ten o’clock.  They should be.  Finally, a guy comes out from the back room.  Before I say anything he says, “We closed.”  I ask when they will be open.  He says, “No, we closed.  Gone.  No more work here.”  His English may not be good but his message is clear. 

I go online and find another service in the neighborhood that costs less and has fantastic YELP reviews (http://fluffnfold.weebly.com).  I hope this relationship lasts longer.  Or at least until I win the lottery.